AS a young man, my father used to pick cotton outside Fort Worth, Texas. My mother picked cotton, too. That’s how things were in the 1930s, since my grandfather essentially was an indentured servant, working the land of some guy named Kinnebrew.

My parents tell me they could pick 300 pounds a day. When I asked, a bit nonplussed, how on earth somebody could pick 300 pounds of the stuff you find stuck in the neck of an aspirin bottle, they shrugged and said that was nothing – some who were more adept could run through 500 pounds a day.

Which brings us to Tuesday’s inauguration.

For no one from those pre-Civil Rights Era years could have fantasized – could have idly daydreamed – of a black man being sworn in as president. Communal pride took them as far as Joe Louis blasting his way through the Bum of the Month Club.

Yet, here we are.

Sure, the Martin Luther Kings have been honored – and rightly so – but during those heroic years there were tens of thousands of lesser knowns who should be front and center when Obama is sworn in.

There were people like my friend Alex’s parents, who took part in the Montgomery Bus Boycott, which provided the initial liftoff for the eventual face-changing of this nation.

There were activists such as the enigmatic organizer James Bevel, who died just the other week, and the likes of the Rev. C.T. Vivian.

Vivian, while leading a voter registration drive in Selma, once took a punch right in the face from an outraged sheriff Jim Clark, a left that decked the reverend. As if to crystallize the entire movement, Vivian – bloodied – bounced right up and without skipping a beat, continued warning Clark’s haughty posse that at one time Hitler and his henchmen believed they too were above the law.

And that justice would prevail. That there were other voices in America crying out to be heard.

Now that day has arrived. This is an extraordinary, unforgettable moment for America and, yes, the world. And we wouldn’t be at this juncture without the nameless, faceless folks – like my parents – who quietly persevered and threw blocks downfield for the Barack Hussein Obamas to follow.

So bravo and kudos to them all. Way to go. Way to go, America. Whoever dreamed we would arrive at this day.